Nail on Which A Painting Hung
by Jaxter-the-poet
Summary: At the beginning of Year 6, Severus Snape feels himself drawn to action by Narcissa Malfoy. Draco must come to terms with his mother's illness. Please R&R.
1. Irrelevant News

Albus Dumbledore had been needing to see his reaction for a while. He would never tell this to Severus (for it was his one check on the man), but whenever he was surprised or angry, the skin above his left ear tightened, making the ear rise a good eight of an inch above the other. So Albus had taken his piece of news and visited the dark potions master's lab at a time he knew he would be brewing the Terristen Solution. And now, Albus found that sneaking up on the professor when he had his hair pulled back had been unnecessary- the stiffening of Severus's spine was the spy's equivalent of throwing cauldrons about the room in a shocked rage.

"I hardly see, Headmaster," Snape said, turning to mash a bit of something Dumbledore only vaguely recognized as a sort of yellow fruit. The potions-master's voice had an unfamiliar hitch that shocked Albus to hear, but not nearly so much as the sound of Snape convulsively clearing his throat. "I hardly see why you saw fit to inform me of this matter."

"Why would I not?" Albus queried.

"Well, I can hardly see how this has any relevance to my duties," Severus said, his knife flying just a bit too quickly.

"Draco's behavior still exceeds that of the average sixteen year old pure blood boy, and his behavior has not worsened any recently even though apparently he has known about this situation since before the beginning of the term. As his professor, I should hardly say it is a concern."

"You are not just the boy's teacher, Severus," He reminded him, his usually kindly voice taking on a rare edge.

The potions master looked up from his brew for the first time since the headmaster's unexpected entrance. Dumbledore noticed with a mild shock the heavy, haunted eyes. His tone was flat, drawn, "No, I suppose not."

Abruptly, Severus turned away, "But even as such, I hardly see why this matter is so pressing. Draco hardly gives his mother a second thought. He is Malfoy's son."

Dumbledore paused, detecting the slightest twinge of bitterness in Snape's words. For a master legilimens he was certainly struggling to hide his emotions. But then again, Albus was uncommonly aware of Severus's faults, and he doubted that anyone else knew how to hear the deep-seated hate that he spewed at anyone that had ever humiliated him. Sometimes, Severus could act like such a child, allowing himself to be held captive by a bunch of foolish young boys. Surely, he was a genius, but sometimes the man did not make any sense to him…

Albus stared at the potion-master's dark-robed back for a few seconds, thinking. Finally, he spoke as calmly and rationally as he could, "Severus, Lucius is in Azkaban."

"And his hold on Draco has never been stronger," The potions master said, adding the lat vial set out before him into the black sludge of the cauldron. Albus wrinkled his nose slightly at the briefly emitted stench which swept across the room.

"Terristen, for your damned freak," Severus offered curtly as a way of explanation.

"Young Miss Wellsh shows some real potions skills, even for one of my freaks." Albus said gently, placing aside the potions master's anger like a snowflake on a warm hood.

Severus shook his head, visibly annoyed, "My apologies headmaster, I simply prefer not to be interrupted by trivial affairs whilst sweating over a hot cauldron brewing a complex potion for a foolish girl because you so requested it."

"Narcissa is moving into her father's house, so she can be nearer Hogwarts. It would be a kind gesture for Draco to at least go and see her one weekend…"

"And you want me to escort him," Severus said dryly, his left ear elevating again.

"It would only be in the best interests of Draco," Albus said sternly. "And you could at least try to be civil once in a while."

Severus stared blankly at the headmaster, passing over the criticism. He finally sighed, and held up one finger, "Just one time. Just to make a show of being supportive. After that, Draco gets to see his mother die all by himself."

Albus nodded sharply, not wishing to push his advantage. He opened the heavy wooden door. "Oh, and Severus," He said lightly, "I'd like you to start seeing Professor Ashbowe again."

Albus thought he saw the tortured potions master roll his eye as he turned away, but he knew the anger hid much more than his mental shields ever could.


	2. My White Thorn Hedges

**All Disclaimers Apply**

**Enjoy**

Severus did not like to use the word funny to indicate a cruel irony, but even he would fell compelled to occasionally use the word to describe his own idiosyncrasies. And thus he would call it funny that he made his bed every morning as soon as he awoke. He could not remember why exactly he had started to do so, but he knew that it was sometime between being hired as a junior potions master and being recruited into Thwaite's Unmentionables. After that time, it had stuck with him, had become something normal to do in the morning, something to make him a bit more stable. It was funnier still because every time he would do it, he would think that his mother wasn't there to enjoy her small victory.

And she had fought hard for it. For as long as he could remember, she had always been adamant that he make his bed, and he never did it. He bore scars from their conversation: burn marks from an overly hot pot of coffee she had dropped while waving her arms about forcefully. He was always quick to point out that it was an accident, that he was not abused. And it was true, for he never spoke of those that hurt him, at least not to anyone besides Dumbledore, and Ashbowe (even if he was forced to tell her). And then, of course, he still remembered that there had been a moment there when he had wanted to tell Narcissa everything, back when she was nothing but a simple little girl and could be trusted to the inner workings of the most treacherous of hearts…

Severus snapped the sheets viciously, drawing them up over the pillows at the top of his spartan queen-sized bed. Though it was one of Hogwarts trademark four-posters, the austere potions-master had somehow managed to dull it down to his tastes. The simple bedding reflected the sharp edges of the Saturday morning chill that invaded his dungeon lair.

He smoothed the blanket roughly, and sighed as he looked about the simple wards he possessed. The bedroom was the least-lived in room in the apartment; indeed it looked like a ghost town of sorts and was in desperate need of a dusting. He bargained that it would be about two weeks before the need to clean would overwhelm the House-Elves fear of the potion-master's wards.

Looking out the door towards the small living area he reflected that maintaining his harsh image did have its definite down-sides. The fact that his was a sort of intimidation that worked best on children, small dogs, and other assorted small-minded creatures had never bothered him much. He had always been irritated and annoyed by small dogs. He had neither use nor desire for children (and his godson Draco had always followed his father's lead in ignoring Snape's dark demeanor). For the most part, only less-than-gifted first years had ever allowed him to interfere with their ability to work (and as soon as Neville Longbottom had begun quivering uncontrollably in front of him very much like a leaf, he had known that the awkward first year would be a liability in the laboratory). Now, though, his wards could use a good scouring and the usually cheerful Hogwarts help had been avoiding his dungeons like the plague ever since one of their numbers had received a cartoonishly enlarged nose after standing too close to an active cauldron of potion he had left in his bathroom to set.

_ I suppose that the fact that I yelled at the Elf afterward didn't help matters much either_, Severus thought to himself. _And I suppose that they also feel slighted that I do take away work from them_. House-elves were oddly protective of such things as the right to make ones bed.

He trudged into the small bathroom of his wards and performed a quick scouring charm to his teeth and body. He could not tell how effective the charm had been however, as the Terristen Solution was nearing completion. He slipped on his favorite dragon-hide gloves from where they lay on the bathroom counter and carefully observed the exterior of the cauldron. He had learned after many years of unfortunate experience that many mistakes were clearly visible (and that many answers could be found) from simply looking at the condition of a cauldron. This one set just as precariously as he had left it last night, the white edges of the slightly-too-small laminate tub holding onto the black pot. A little perspiration set around the edge of the lid, which was to be expected. He sighed, thinking not for the first time that perhaps he ought to get around to moving into the Head of House dorm with its two bedrooms (including a larger study than the one he currently had carved out of a corner of his sitting room) and Jacuzzi size bathtub. But before he could allow himself enough time to make any further plans, a strangely pleasant scent emanated from the black cauldron.

He smiled, and lifted off the lid, content that at long last the potion was done. Even better, he had made enough that it should not have to be replenished for at least another three months. Let Ms. Wellsh just try to ruin his time now!

He looked at the large clock set over the cluttered desk as he exited the bathroom. _Ms. Wellsh will have to wait to join the rather large group of students that ruin my time_, he thought bitterly. It was 6:27, and Draco was supposed to be outside his wards at 6:30. As far as Severus was concerned, the boy was late.

He waited outside his wards for another ten minutes before finally resolving to go drag the impudent little prince out of his bed. Jinxes from his childhood days floated through his head as he contemplated how best to wake the scoundrel. Severus almost felt a bit disappointed as he saw the blond's form running full tilt toward him. His collar was not straight, his hair was tousled, and most horrifyingly, the boy was smiling at his professor as he neared.

Snape frowned reflexively. "Had a nice sleep, Malfoy?"

"Sorry I'm late Professor, my alarm didn't go off…" The flaxen-haired fiend declared, breathing a bit heavily still.

"Then perhaps you should have taken care to fix it. Though you may rest assured that I would have **eventually** came to awake you **one way or another**."

"Ah, well the alarm I use is not so easy to fix," He said, the inane smile still plastered to his face.

Severus fixed him with a death glare. Still the smile remained.

"Draco, why are you smiling?"

The boy's smirk grew even larger and more obnoxious (if that was even possible), and Severus sighed. Had he been but a few years younger and a bit less composed, he might have rolled his eyes. "Draco, forcing Crabbe to sit up all night watching the clock does not constitute an alarm."

"Actually, Parkinson volunteered."

"Draco, I am your head of house," He said lowly, trying to become menacing enough for a rapidly growing sixteen year old.

"Yes, yes and also my godfather, not to mention an old-fashioned prude," The boy said coolly. The idiot grin was still there, though it seemed to have lost its purpose. Severus severely hoped that his face had not frozen in that expression.

He threw his head back slightly, "Is that what your father calls me?"

"Only when he's sober," the boy said, looking like the damn Chesire Cat.

"Or not incarcerated," Snape said, nastily. Finally, the boy stopped his smirking, and the corners of his mouth tugged down. "Now, I've asked you a question, earlier, Draco. Would you kindly indulge me? Why are you smiling?"

The boy finally sobered up, and seemed to stand straighter, more coolly. "It's just nice to get out for a bit, I guess," He said finally, with a non-chalant shrug. Severus felt for him a bit then, and decided not to press him any further. Let the boy be happy if he must. Come November, he would have much less opportunities to

The boy stood about nervously for a bit, waiting for Severus to move, humming a slight tune. Finally, he looked up at the professor and cleared his throat. "Professor, as nice as it is to stand about like this in the middle of an awkward pause, shouldn't we find a floo?"

Severus looked at him, "We're not going by Floo, Draco."

"Oh, okay." The boy nodded, "Am I supposed to show the way or something?"

Severus shook his head, "Draco, when was the last time you visited the MacMordre Estate?"

The boy looked down, and mumbled, "Idunno, fourteen years?"

"Then you probably don't remember…"

"Remember what?" He said sullenly.

"Remember…" Severus paused, feeling his wand vibrate ever so slightly in his robe pocket. He grabbed his glowing wand and pressed it at the juncture of the wall and the floor. "Ursaiin ris," he mumbled, grateful that this particular spell was just as effective regardless of his bungled proununciation. A faint outline of a square began to glow on the wall. "Draco, you were given a word?"

"Umm, right." The teenager pressed his wand hesitantly against the square and mumbled, in a voice just loud enough to be considered a whisper, "Docha."

The square opened up and grew to a height just large enough for a man to pass through crouched. Draco looked at the potions-master briefly, surprised to see that his mother's cast off family had enough influence to buy a direct access to the highly secretive school. "I didn't know that the MacMordre's were a charter family of Hogwarts."

The Slytherin shook his head briefly, "Your grandfather."

"Of course, he would," Draco said, stepping through the porthole quickly. Severus took a deep breath, eyeing the small entrance distrustfully. Square archways…he thought, not remembering the rest of the aphorism. _They bode bad things, that's the bottom line_, Severus said, recalling yet another one of his mother's impassioned speeches. Naturally, Narcissa would die in a house with square doors. In his life, she had always been just beyond them, at a place he feared to reach. He stepped through.

A/N: Yeah, this story is definitely out-of-cannon as far as Narcissa goes. Don't worry though, it adds to the character I think. Plus, we get all manner of Scottish uncles for Draco (next chapter, I promise). If you enjoyed this, hated this, or read it and want to mention that, please write a review. Even a "Hey, I read this. Spiffy" would make my day better. Oh and a magical brownie for whoever can figure out where the story's title comes from. Next chapter I'll give full credit for it. Thanks again for reading.


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